


Broken Things

by 1V1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (both parties), Blood Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki and Reader are both Yandere like really thats all you gotta know, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self imposed imprisonment, Stockholm Syndrome, Two yanderes in love, Violence, Yandere, mentions of knife play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 22:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/pseuds/1V1
Summary: Broken things have their place in the world.When the world breaks you, removes you, just to spit you back to the reality that removed you, you stay broken. You can't be 'fixed'.At the very least, its better to be broken with another than be broken and alone.





	Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

> The masses ask: 1v1 when will you update your fics?  
I gaze upon them and answer: Okay but consider yandere loki and yandere reader but for each other.

There was nothing comforting here. Nothing kind nor soft. Because the things one might say were such? They were lies. Cold, cruel lies designed to mislead and hide the gnarled truth of things, made to cover up what was broken and rotten under the surface. But broken things had a place like all other things in the world.

They belonged with other broken things. 

Such was why there was no comfort to be found. Only reminders of that which you were not, not anymore.   
Years- it had been years since you were ‘agent’, since you filed forms and did deskwork, the comfort and safety of an office job lost the moment the Triskelion fell. SHEILD no more, hiding in plain sight, cutting corners as decency and diplomacy were lost under the eyes and lies of order and justice when justice no longer existed.   
Desk work was druggery, but it had been safe.  
Looking behind you with each step, moving to hide your face, to hide your very existence was not safe. But then, that was the price of knowledge. So few left who knew what you did, passcodes and passwords, name locations and dates. Information had crossed your path as easy as leaves in a stream, yet now other things floated in the river of life.

Like bodies, broken and beaten until empty and left where they’d fallen.

It had been years andthe desk had turned to streets as you kept it secret, kept it safe. It was you. Your mind and sanity. Safe was a luxury, and you hadn’t the coin to pay it’s cost. Not even when a one eyed man had found you in a cheap motel, drug money mixed with what you stole and sold to stay alive.   
Desk work to drugs, you pushed things all the same for those that wanted it.

Drugs to death, you pushed information and death all the same for those that wanted it.  
Still not safe.  
Never safe.

Years past, and now you looked to the world as it was, done thinking of the world left behind. This was a new world, yet neither better nor worse than the former. Perhaps worse you thought, given the man who’s lips ran down your spine in silent adoration, in a worship unfitting his station.  
“So lost in your own head.” His voice ghosted up from your legs to your chest, sinking down your throat to eat away any words you had. “Shall I remedy the pain my raf?” Amber light filtered through windows as dawn began to illuminate the grassy knolls that made up the land taken for a people who died yet lived.   
His hands worked at the tense muscle on your calf, lips hovering over flesh, teasing the temptation of warm touch. Your fingers reached, smoothing through wet strands of black hair, the scent of sandalwood soap still lingering. It was not a word, but it was an answer. He smiled against you, inhaling the smell of you- sweat from sleep, the lingering fragrance of the linens that had been fresh till you had slipped into bed the night before. 

It was this way often now, the manner which you woke and the way things were.   
Desks to drugs, to death to… damnation.   
What would they say, to know you betrayed them? To know you held nothing but a knife to your own chest and a match to the wick of bomb set to the foundation of all they believed? What would they say indeed, to know they had sent you to your demise, just to have survived it and come out scared and scattered, sanity stolen and soul slipped away?

Or perhaps, that was your own paranoia speaking.   
His poeticism rubbed off on you in strange ways at times. 

“So philosophical today with that musing look on your pretty face.” He stood at your back, arms wrapped around you as his words were punctuated with a kiss to the pulse still beating in your neck. “Any reason for it?” You sighed against him, leaning to his embrace, letting him hold you up as you let yourself fall, collapsing as reality threatened to take you back. It was much better to be here.   
It wasn’t safe, but it wasn’t safe their either.   
Here at least, you had him.

“No.” Your voice was clear, resigned. He said once he liked how you spoke so- that you did not simper or whisper, you knew your words and their weight. You gave them such. “Musing over the past.”  
“A terrible place.” His eyes held a mirth to them, mocking you, knowing all that he did. 

He knew how you’d been sent, stationed to New Asgard. How you had been made to mingle, to immerse yourself, an agent on the ground, a paper pusher the mask you wore to stay close, to keep an eye on things for the man who had one eye once but then had no eyes at all.   
He, however, knew how humans when lost will turn to their base selves, how fear will have them claw to what they knew, to seek anything to regain what was lost. Humans would do anything, falling to madness in order to stay alive a little bit longer, to take back a little bit more.  
He knew how you had been undone and broken apart and then put back together, all because you were the one who was within reach. All because of the snap of fingers that demanded all pay the price for the folly of a select few.  
He had come when called in the end, and had held you close, tenderly, as you tried to collect the fragments of who you were while he collected his due.

Sacrifice to sacrements to salvation- damnation and devastation and souls stolen and lost and sanity taken and shattered across the stars while he held it in his hands, clinging to the only thing he could.   
Such was revival from death while you floated in space you supposed. But he had known your last moments of suffering, known as the last safety, as your fleeting hope for forgetting was too lost to the stars that he was to much like you. Losing everything, getting it back, just to have it stolen all over again.

So he kept you. He collected you. Then he came back with you.

Your murderers hadn’t expected that to say the least. Sacrifices weren’t supposed to survive, much less return in the arms of a vengeful god. You hand twitched in remembering the feeling of choking out the life of their leader, the hate in you, and anger and sorrow and the knowing- and his praise as that life left those human eyes, your own no longer like that man’s. 

“Do you think we’ll need to stay like this a while longer?” You ask him, his arms still around you, his nose brushing behind your ear as he sways you both back and forth in the warm glow of morning. “They had their victory now- shouldn’t we have our own?” He snorts, undignified as he lets you go slowly, unwinding from around you to move to the kitchen, the sound of eggs breaking as you stare still into the morning dawn.  
“Thanos might be dead, their heros returned with the stolen stones… but you and I dear raf-” He hums, the hiss of eggs on cast iron hot, “-we are outside their scope of things now.” You knew that.

He wasn’t as he was, nor, were you. Inhuman was the technical term, mutant the other- but both did not define you. You were the one who died and the one who came back. He was the one who rewrote his own story. Chaos was a fickle and strange thing. More so the god who embodied it.

“But how much longer?” You ask, more insistent, and what you see from the corner of your eye has him pause.   
“Not much.” He says, his own sigh heavy, his shoulders going slack, wind lost from his sails. “Not much longer I suppose. We’ve been here too long as is, undisturbed. I expect we will be found soon enough.” You nod. That is good enough an answer for you.

He plates the eggs at the table, toast and jam laid out. It is domestic now- at first he would never have done such for you, but now you both do so. In another life, it would be a comfort, in another life, it would have been kind. Here in this life, it is just an action. A motion memorized to expedite the morning. 

After returning from your own death at the hands of cultists, he’d been more composed at his own revival. But he’d been smart, taking you with him, crafting this home, a cottage hidden in the countryside close enough but far from the place you’d been assigned to. You both had to keep an eye out. Time, he said, would tell how the story would end. When it did, you both had smiled. Nothing could go back to the way it was- but now the past was a locked gate. There was no way to go back, no need to.

Still, walking into New Asgard, calling yourself a newly created divine being that transcended death, and Loki, calling himself the ‘New God of Stories’ would likely not end well. It was better they find you both without much fanfare and with no evidence to suggest either of you sought anymore more than existence.  
Being taken out of existing often left one with that feeling you guessed. It was rather nice to ‘be’ as it were.

Breakfast tasted good that morning. You suspected it had to do with the slightly better farm fresh eggs you bought a few days ago.

How twisted it was. To go from a desk agent at SHIELD just ten years past to becoming something akin to a literal deity of creation- with a God of Chaos and Stories as your companion and lover. Life had a funny way of working out. Even if it technically meant you had to die at least once. His case was more than a few times. You were fine with just once. Besides, can’t exactly be sacrificed a second time if you’re immortal.   
You washed the dishes from breakfast as Loki worked at strengthening the protective wards and runes over the doorway. It was a ritual for him, a comfort. Neither of you wanted to be found persay, but you also knew eventually you would- but being shot up in your own home was unappealing. Hence, the runes. At the very least they’d have to fight you both barehanded, and one of you was always happy to carry at least one knife on them at all times.

The thought of the blade made your thoughts turn to him, the way his smile at you knew exactly what you thought of, what was making itself known even knowing it was wrong.

Warm hands holding your face as he kissed you- you tasted breakfast in each other’s mouth but it hardly mattered. What mattered was how sweet his blood tasted as you bit his lip. What mattered was how he lifted you up and slammed you into a wall so hard it hurt.  
Those things mattered. 

Last night he’d been rough- the tender soreness not yet fading and the dark ugly yellow purple marks of his fingers still on your hips, thighs and neck. Yet you craved the pain he would give- you moaned as he pushed his fingers back into those healing spots, the ache and throb of pain making your body respond in a way it shouldn’t. You responded by pulling at his hair, admiring how he hissed and how the chords of his neck stretched, showing off the red marks where you’d broken skin last night when he’d made the mistake of letting your hair go. 

Once upon a time, if someone had said you were not possesive or cruel or violent with your lovers, you’d agree.  
But with him it was different. With him you wanted to have him forever. You wanted to mark him and brand him as yours. You wanted everyone to know he was your god. That every inch of him belonged to you and no one could take him- not SHIELD, not Thor, not Death herself. Loki was yours, and he wasn’t allowed to leave you, even if he wanted to.  
(But he didn’t, did he? No- he loved you. He loved you so much.)  
His cock was hard and dry as it thrust into you, barely wet, barely stretched and ready. The pain burst like stars in your eyes as you screamed, only making him laugh and thrusting in deeper, harder. He hurt you so much,he hurt you so good. His snarl and command- look at him, beg him to be kind, beg for mercy, say you’re sorry for being bad, for being naughting and thinking of anything, anyone but him. And you did. You begged and cried and screamed as he fucked you hard enough you felt him hit your cervix, the pain lancing deep in your core. 

But you loved it- because he loved you.  
Lips crashing into each other, you whimpered and begged to be let to cum, begged him to make you cum- you loved him, only him, you didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to leave your home. Not without him, you loved him after all.  
How sweet the pain as he kissed you softly, how he whispered how much he adored you, how he loved you, how you were so broken and perfect for him. Unmade and remade, only you could complete him, only he could complete you.   
Both of you had been killed, shattered and left to rot- connected only by blood sacrifice and ancient magic and your wills to return for revenge-   
You screamed as he came, hot cum spilling deep inside you, coating your sore walls and slowly oozing out of you along with the faint tinge of blood. It was all you wanted and more- your legs shaking around him and your body trembled, your orgasm drawing his seed in, desperate for what would ruin you both.

Loki moaned as he moved you both to the bed, his hands roaming over your body, admiring the marks he left on your skin, on your soul. 

The bath he drew was cool- the scent of honey and milk strong as he tended to each ache and each bruise. His touch was gentle and soothing, as if saying sorry for his roughness- but you did like him like that. Almost as much as you liked it when he took you like a beast, cold blue cock splitting you open as his hands burned your back.   
“Mmm, you have that look on your face again.” You turned your head, his own on the side of the tub. “You’re thinking something wicked.”

You traced his lips with honey milk coated finger, smiling when he playfully licked it.   
“You are-” You loved him, the monster and murder, the vengful wicked god. “-so perfect.” His eyes softened, his smile real and genuine. You knew all his flaws, his rages, his mercurial moods, his angers and hates- and you adored them. You adored him. And he was all you could want.

He wasn’t human.  
And you were not human either anymore, so what did it matter.

Loki huffed as he stood, acting like he had not just shown you the sweet man behind his lies.   
“I suspect we will be found soon. With that blasted doctor back and those remaning seeking to fortify their defenses, us being as close as we are to Asgard-”  
You move quickly, milk spilling over the tub onto tile as you grab him, fingers tangling in his hair as you hiss.  
“You won’t be joining them.” He shudders, shivvers as your nails break skin, as hair is pulled from his scalp as you slam his face into the door.   
“You’re mine Loki.” He breathes heavily through his nose, his eyes are wild, alight with fear and lust and love- “Only I will get to punish you.” You slam it again into the door, the crunch of his nose sends red onto the paint. “No one else gets you but me.”

He goes pliant, slack as you both breath heavy.

You spin him around to kiss him. He moans into your mouth- blood mixing in and making you aroused. You don’t bother waiting.

He screams as you dig the knife into his shoulder, riding his cock as you please, loving the ache and pain and burn. Adoring the way the red looks against pale skin. The way it covers you both as he cries out under you, filling you up more than that morning. 

The bath water turns pink afterwards. You both smile softly and kiss like lovers do.

A few days later they finally find you both.  
You have a fresh knife wound in your back. He has raw whip marks on his backside that ooze blood as scabs are broken from their manhandling.   
The taste of his cock and cum in your mouth is fresh too. The swollen cock half hard between his legs lingers as he sees you cast them aside and kill the one who dared touch him, who dared to make him bleed. He snarls and brandishes a blade when Thor has the impunity to speak at you.

He holds you close, arm wrapped around your shoulder as you hold yourself against him, gun in hand, stolen, ready to kill again for his sake, so they cannot take him away.

Fury looks at you both, uncertainty in his eyes.  
When he orders his men to stand down, when that infernal Dr. Strange drops his magic you look to your lover and smile softly.  
“You aren’t allowed to leave me.”  
He kisses your forehead,   
“You will never escape me as well.”  
Broken things belonged as they always did. They had things they coveted and would kill to keep. At the very least, broken things belonged with broken things.

And you loved being broken and breaking him in return.


End file.
